


duck and cover

by Malkinby (2spooky4u), your mom (2spooky4u)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Aww emotionally stunted hockey players, Best Friends, Bridge - Freeform, First Date, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Giant Duck - Freeform, Giant Rubber Duck, Hockey, M/M, National Hockey League, Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh Penguins, Pittsburgh Rubber Duck Bridge Party, Rivers, Rubber Duck, Three Rivers - Freeform, absurdity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/Malkinby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/your%20mom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some really strange events occur in Pittsburgh sometimes. And sometimes Geno drags Sidney to them. Sometimes, giant rubber ducks are thrown parties on bridges. And sometimes Sidney really, really likes Geno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	duck and cover

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I heard about the Pittsburgh Rubber Duck Bridge Party, I of course almost fell of of my chair. And then I began hypothesizing about what the party might be like, and what local celebrities might be in attendance. Of course making me think about the Penguins.
> 
> This is my first Hockey RPF fic. I usually only read them, but giant duck. Come on.
> 
>  
> 
> http://www.pittsburghmagazine.com/Best-of-the-Burgh-Blogs/The-412/September-2013/7-Things-You-Need-to-Know-About-the-Giant-Rubber-Duck/

 

 

 

 

Apparently Pittsburgh is one of the strangest cities in the world. At least, it gets up to some very, very strange things.

 

Like inflating a forty-foot yellow rubber duck in one of its three large rivers.

 

It's the first city in the Americas to be graced with one of the giant ducks, for reasons unknown to everyone save for the artist. There have been a few in other cities, apparently.

 

And it's just his luck that there's no game tonight and Pittsburgh is abuzz with talk of the duck. There's going to be a festival-type thing, downtown, called [Pittsburgh Rubber Duck Bridge Party](http://www.pittsburghmagazine.com/Best-of-the-Burgh-Blogs/The-412/September-2013/Rubber-Ducky-Real-Time-Photo-Gallery/). It's a ludicrous concept, really, just absolutely absurd.

 

"Sid, Sid, Sidney, city is showing new duck," Geno says in lieu of a greeting when Sidney picks up his cell phone.

 

"Geno- what-" Sid flusters, squinting. Geno's English is broken, even at the best of times, and he has absolutely no idea what Geno is raving about now.

 

"Tonight, Sid, there is giant duck. On river."

 

"Um..... okay," Sidney says. That statement did not do much to clear up the situation. "You mean, like...." he tries to fathom what that could possibly mean. "Do you mean there's like, a rare type of large duck or something? And it's.....migrating? Through Pittsburgh? Or is it at the National Aviary?" For some odd reason (odd is the norm in this city) the National Aviary is located in Pittsburgh, not in D. C. like all of the other National Something-Or-Others.

 

"No, Sid, is art duck," Geno says, laughing breathlessly, like Sid's the insane one here. "Is giant art duck on river."

 

"......" Sid blinks.

 

"Some artist, Swedish, I think, made giant ducks for going in cities. Pittsburgh is having duck. Tonight."

 

"So.....there's a giant duck going in the river?" Sid asks dubiously. It sounds too ridiculous to be true.

 

"Yes, yes, exactly! Is forty foot high, floats in water, giant duck. Big and yellow," Geno babbles excitedly. "Is crazy, yes?"

 

"Yeah, crazy," Sid agrees dubiously, not entirely certain whether he meant that the whole duck thing is crazy or Geno is crazy.

 

"Do not know why Swedish art man choose Pittsburgh. Maybe because of rivers?"

 

"I guess," Sid agrees. He can't think of any other American city- or any other city, for that matter, with as many rivers. Except Venice, of canal fame, and he's pretty sure that doesn't count.

 

"Want to see giant duck," Geno says, sounding like a small child. "Is so crazy, have to see giant duck."

 

"We already have Giant Eagles, Geno, you don't need to see a giant rubber duck," Sid jokes half-heartedly.

 

"Is grocery store, is not the same as large duck in river."

 

"So go see it, if it makes you happy. An overgrown Penguin with an overgrown duck. You'll fit right in."

 

"Okay, I come to Sid's house at four thirty. Party at five, need to park," Geno babbles.

 

"Party- what- why are you coming to my house- Geno, are you taking me to the duck thing?"

 

"Is Pittsburgh Rubber Duck Bridge Party. We famous in Pittsburgh. Will be fun. See first giant duck in America. If not, you just going to stay home and video game all night, lonely and sad. See duck, Sid, I give you no choice."

 

Sidney closes his eyes, running his hand along his face.

 

"Geno, people will /recognize/ us. They'll ask for autographs, photos will go online. Photos of us."

 

"You scared they think we dating?" Geno teases, and Sidney frowns.

 

"No. Yes. I don't know. Either way, the press might, and I-"

 

"You have no life, is what," Geno says. "We wear normal clothes. Not say we there. Be fine."

 

And that's how Sidney Crosby ends up, at four twenty-eight in the afternoon, reluctantly opening Geno's car door and sitting in the front seat, on his way to see a giant duck visit the Roberto Clemente Bridge. /Maybe Pittsburgh needs to name a bridge after me for this/, Sid thinks. /Giant duck/.

 

Parking isn't too much of a hassle. There are scores of garages in downtown Pittsburgh to accommodate Steelers, Penguins, and Pirates fans as well as the more subdued throngs who attend various theater events at the Benedum Theater and the Byham Theater. The Cultural District and the stadiums are across the river from each other, right near The Point where the rivers connect. It's an amazing city, really, so vibrant and quirky, filled with sports fans and college students and hipsters. Apparently the duck is staying on the ater for quite a while, so it might draw people in, combined with the fact that the Pirates weren't as abysmal as usual and actually made the playoffs. He's met Andrew McCutchen a few times, as well as other Pittsburgh athletes like Ben Roethlisberger and Troy Polamalu and Jerome Bettis. McCutchen is a great player, apparently (he doesn't know much about baseball, nobody does), and an awesome guy. He deserves it. So it could be great for the city to get some visitors.

 

Geno is cheerful and talkative, rambling about the symbolism behind the duck's installation and the various other places ducks have been established, like Beijing and somewhere in Australia or something. He does have to admit it's kind of a cool thing to go see, he just wishes it wasn't so crowded. Crowds in Pittsburgh inevitably have sports fans, because Pittsburgh is Pittsburgh. But people seem to be focused on the big bird, and not the other festival-goers.

 

The festival is sponsored by the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust, so there are all kinds of other things going on. They've closed down the bridge where people will be watching from, and street vendors selling food and art and souvenirs line the area. Families stroll by, kids wearing yellow and orange in honor of the bird. People just coming from the Andy Warhol Museum wander through. It's a beautiful afternoon, and the city feels alive on this Friday night.

 

"Sid, you are hungry?" Geno asks, eyeing the food trucks conglomerated at the area at one end of the Roberto Clemente.

 

"Geno, if you want to eat, just do it. You don't have to pretend it's for me."

 

"Is not for me!" Geno insists, eyes widening. He raises his palms, his gesture betraying his obvious guilt. Sid rolls his eyes. "Serious, Sid, is for you. Eat gross food if up to yourself. Have some variety."

 

"Aww, I didn't know you cared," Sid dead-pans, batting his eyelashes.

 

"You didn't?" Geno tilts his head, confused. "We on team together near decade."

 

"No, it's- I was kidding."

 

"Oh," Geno says, obviously not comprehending.

 

"I was making a joke, see, because I was implying that you- Ugh. Fine. I'll get some damn tacos or something. You happy?" Sid gives up. Not being a native English speaker makes it hard for Geno to grasp some of the more bizzare annals of the langage.

 

"Yes, happy when Sid has fun," he says, smiling, and Sid grunts. Geno's a six-foot whatever softy, despite his hulking appearance. Sid should be careful, because he really does come across as overly affectionate. And he is the oppostite, has always been the opposite, can't not be the opposite, doesn't know how to stop being the opposite. But Geno just stands there in the street, smiling happily at him.

 

It's still a strange concept to have a friend like Geno.

 

"So, what do you see? Anything that looks good?" Sid asks. He will let Geno pick for him, because it will at least be quasi-healthy. Hopefully. Because it's hockey time, and they've both got to stay healthy, right?

 

"See lots. Mexican, Chinese, Indian, burgers, ice cream, sushi-"

 

"Sushi?" Sid raises an eyebrow. Street food isn't his cup of tea, as it were. Food truck sushi sounds, frankly, awful.

 

"-Italian, Polish, corn dogs, cotton candy, Greek, popcorn, crepes...." Geno trails off.

 

"That's, uh, that's quite a large selection," Sid says. "Why don't you choose some place? I'll order something there."

 

"Good. Is date," Geno says, smiling. He turns and walks determinedly through the crowd, stopping at a Mexican-style vendor. Sid rolls his eyes at the wording. They're practically an old married couple, just instead of being married they play hockey together.

 

"I have.....empanadas," Geno decides once Sid catches up to him, almost knocking over an eleven-year-old blonde girl in a Mario Lemieux jersey. Her eyes widen; she obviously knows who he is. Pittsburgh fans span all ages.

 

"Sorry," he says to her, winking at her starstruck expression.

 

"Katie," the girl's mom calls. "Come on."

 

"Coming," she says, scampering off. "Mom, I just saw Sidney Crosby!"

 

"The football player? Of course you did, sweetie, of course. Let's go find a bathroom for Izzy," the mom says, ushering the girl away. Sidney chuckles. Thank god for distracted moms.

 

"Sid?" Geno asks. "You want food or no food?" He nudges Sid's shoulder.

 

"I'll have, uh, um, what you're having, it sounded really good," he lies. He has no idea what Geno chose; he was too busy being amused at the fact that the mom thought he was on the Steelers.

 

"And what would that be?" Geno asks, raising an eyebrow pointedly. Sid grins sheepishly and shrugs.

 

"Tacos?"

 

Rolling his eyes, Geno steps forward in line. He orders three empanadas, because one won't be enough for either of them. They lean against the yellow bridge to eat, watching Canadian geese float aimlessly on the river. Sid can never remember which river is which- Allegheny, Monongahela, Ohio.... whatever. He thinks Monongahela goes south....maybe.

 

"Is nice rivers," Geno remarks, polishing off his one and a half empanadas before Sid is halfway through the first.

 

"Yeah, they are," Sid agrees. "They make the city look really pretty."

 

"Glad I came to Penguins," muses Geno. "Like NHL, like city of Pittsburgh, like hockey, like team mates. Like friends," he adds seriously, and Sid can't help but smile.

 

"Me too," he agrees. "I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad we're both here together." Geno looks at him, expression thoughtful and ultimately unreadable, before taking out his phone.

 

"Is almost time for giant duck to come down around Point," he says, standing up. "Ass is getting cold from bridge." He walks off to the other edge of the bridge, where they will have a better view of the approaching rubber bird.

 

Sid finishes his dinner as they wait. Anticipation is thick in the air. It's a sensation that he is quite used to, being on a successful sports team, but it's different. This time, none of it depends on him to win. There is no winner or loser tonight, just the eccentric residents of an eccentric city banding together to watch a giant duck make its American debut.

 

"You were right," he says softly to Geno. "I'm glad you made me come."

 

Geno looks at him, smiling gently.

 

"Know what is good for Sid," he says. Sid's heart clenches and he feels a rush of fondness. Geno cares for him, he really does, despite all of his awkwardness and the fact that he really doesn't know how to function when hockey isn't involved.

 

"Yeah, you do. I hate my house so empty, and it helps to have someone to drag me out of it every once in a while."

 

"Is bad to isolate," Geno says gently. "We both far from family."

 

Sid swallows. He nods, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. A man with a loudspeaker rambles on and on about the duck.

 

He doesn't say just how much he hates being alone, how much colder it feels in a heated home all alone than out in a snow storm with his family. He doesn't ask if Geno gets so achingly lonely with his family in another country. He knows Geno has trouble meeting and befriending people due to his English and his cultural differences, and Sidney has trouble...because, well, he's Sidney Crosby and everyone knows who he is and yet nobody knows him.

 

Geno bumps his shoulder against Sid's, smiles at him.

 

"No lockout twenty thirteen, can spend many time with team," he says, and Sidney tries not to think about how much it had meant to him when he thought Geno was talking about just them instead of the team.

 

"Yeah," he agrees, keeping his tone neutral, and then the crowd starts shouting and cheering. The duck is visible now, and holy gods of hockey, it is awesome. It's /humongous/, at least three stories high. It's almost laughable, the solemn expression on the duck's face as it glides down the river. The whole thing is so, so, absurd, and he starts to laugh what Geno calls his 'honk laugh'.

 

"Is the duck," Geno says, and Sidney looks at him. He's smiling broadly, looking elated. "Sid, is the duck."

 

"It is," Sidney says, bemused. There is something so compelling about the duck. It filled the atmosphere with a childlike glee.

 

"Imagine teams come to Pittsburgh, see duck. They all think we in city insane." Sid nods. Back to hockey topics again. He finds himself wishing that they had other areas of overlap in their lives. But, no, their lives /are/ hockey.

 

"Maybe it will intimidate them so much that they turn around and run home." Sid continues the banter, a grasp at levity to distract himself.

 

"From a duck? Duck intimidates no one. No one sane." Geno chuckles, keeping his eyes on the duck. He is still smiling broadly, enjoying the ridiculous concept of a giant forty foot duck floating in a river for no functional reason.

 

"No pro sports players are sane, G, just look at us," Sidney says, the nickname slipping easily off of his tongue.

 

Geno looks at him, considering.

 

"No, we are not sane," he agrees after a moment. His smile is more toned down now, softer, as he gazes at Sid. "But like you anyway."

 

Sidney's heart clenches. He wonders if Geno knows all of the varied implications that word can have in English. Because it's impossible that he means it the way Sid's mind takes it, isn't it? No, Sid is not sane. He is not sane, and he is not anything more than Geno's friend.

 

"Okay, Sid?" Geno asks. Again, Sidney has to ponder the English language. Does he mean 'are you okay with this?' or 'are you feeling all right'?

 

"I'm fine," he lies. His heart feels heavy, because he is having fun now, here, on the Roberto Clemente Bridge with his best friend- /nothing more/- and it is amazing but he is going to have to go back to an empty, lonely house yet again, he is going to have to pretend that the covers on his too-empty bed provide the same kind of warmth that another person's presence would bring. He will be forced to lie awake and think about how he has nothing else besides hockey, a fact that had been impossible to evade since the lockout occurred and he was faced with that horrendous stretch of listlessness that had the direct feel of a vacation extended too long. Worse was the nagging thought that he was going to be utterly alone if his hockey career ended. No, not if, when, when his hockey career ended, because it would have to. It wasn't something he could keep doing until he was sixty or seventy, like a normal job. And when it ended, he would be stranded. Most of the other guys had girlfriends or wives, had families that they raised alongside their hockey careers. Those guys wouldn't see the end of everything they knew as soon as a concussion hit too hard or the contract ran out.

 

But Sidney Crosby doesn't have that. Hockey has become him, taking over his decisions, personality, lifestyle, his whole essence. What happens when he runs out of steam? When the thing he has built his entire self on is snatched out from under him?

 

"Sidney, you not fine," Geno says after what feels like a lifetime. "You have anxious all across your face."

 

Sid doesn't know how to respond.

 

"Saw duck, Sid, we go home now. I drop you off." Geno is looking really, really concerned for him. "You look not feeling well. Big crowd here, bad for not feeling well. Let you go home and sleep. I saw duck, you saw duck, even though you did not want see the duck, I made you, and now feel not well."

 

"No," Sid objects suddenly. "I liked the duck. Really, I did. The duck is awesome. I am having a lot of fun with you tonight, G, and I don't want it to end just because I'm not sane."

 

"Did not mean to say Sid is not sane," Geno says, eyebrows knitting together. Sidney laughs.

 

"No, no, I'm not insulted, seriously. I know that I'm insane, I knew a long time ago." He claps Geno on the shoulder. "I just...."

 

"Worry," Geno says softly. "Sid worry about things."

 

"I just don't want to go home yet, okay?" Sid says simply, begging to whatever random hockey deities looking down on him tonight that Geno lets it go.

 

"Then we stay," Geno asserts, as if he thinks Sid is really, really dumb. "Easy."

 

Sid blinks gratefully. He knows that Geno isn't satisfied with the answer he gave.

 

"Duck is majestic," he says, and they both look out across the water. Sid bursts out laughing. It is absolutely absurd to call a giant yellow rubber duck 'majestic', so very Geno. Geno looks at him, smiling faintly, obviously wondering what he said that is so funny.

 

Sidney just keeps laughing, laughing at the giant duck and at Geno's expression and how his laughter just makes Geno smile confused at him. He laughs and laughs, running out of breath. He grasps the yellow bridge for balance. The pair is beginning to get funny looks, a teenager in a hoodie backing away slowly, but he doesn't care, he just laughs and laughs. Eventually Geno joins him, and it's incredible that even here, on this bridge (the epitome of Pittsburgh) full of Pittsburghers, packed with them, and nobody seems to recognize him. It's impossible and intoxicating to think that they are not Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby right now, they are just two guys being a little bit /not sane/ and hanging out, looking at a freaking enormous rubber duck. Forty foot duck. Forty foot rubber duck, and he's happy.

 

"Sid, you make people look at us," Geno says breathlessly after a moment. "They stare, nudge their friends, take pictures, tweet them, we have to stop," he says, but he's still laughing. Happiness looks good on him, Sid thinks.

 

"Good. Let 'em."

 

And then Sidney does something absolutely stupid, reckless, unplanned, and perfectly right. He grabs the sides of his team mate's light jacket and jams their lips together, ignoring the startled squeak that Geno emits before relaxing slightly. He tastes like Chap-Stick and autumn, and the kiss is over way, way too soon. The people around them are staring, some uncomfortable at the PDA, some bemused by it, some disgusted by the guy-on-guy thing.

 

But Sid doesn't care, because he feels /electric/, breathless, like he has just won a narrow victory over the Flyers in the Stanley Cup championship game, accepting a pass from Number 71 and putting it in the net seconds before the final period ends, breaking the tie. Hockey, yes, because Sidney knows nothing else. He just /knows/ that he is completely in love with Number 71 on the Pittsburgh Penguins. Everything makes sense now, how Geno gets him like nobody else, how they got along so well from the very start despite the initial language barrier, how he feels happy when he's around, how the loneliness dissipates when he and Geno are alone together.

 

Geno is blinking at him, dazed, eyes wild. He is frozen in place, but he doesn't look horrified or disgusted or pitying, he looks startled, only startled.

 

"Sid, what happen-" he tries, but breaks off when he absorbs the look on Sid's face.

 

"It's not like I stabbed you, dude," Sid says, laughing. "We do need to get out of here, though, definitely."

 

"Uh....." Geno is still standing there, blinking, when Sidney turns around and begins to bound away. Someone wolf-whistles loudly, and it tears him out of his spell. He catches up to Sid easily, and Sid just runs faster, and the whole city feels elated with electricity. By the time they reach the parking garage where Geno's car is parked, Sid is laughing again, doubled over, in fact.

 

"Ge- Geno, I- Oh, my g- oh my god- did you-"

 

"Not sane, Sid," Geno chides, simply because he still has not wrapped his mind around any of this yet.

 

  
"I like you, Geno," Sid says quietly, and through some miracle enforced by the hockey deities, Geno seems to get the point. He crowds Sidney against the wall of the garage, kissing him back, breathless and desperate and giddy. Sid hums happily and winds his arm around his waist, the other one tangling in Geno's shirt. There aren't many people around because they're all at the Pittsburgh Rubber Duck Bridge Party, that absurdity, and the sun's going down. Eventually, they break apart because their brains are stuttering from lack of air.

 

"I like you too, Sidney," Geno says. He grabs his team mate's hand as they walk into the parking garage, practically floating past the snoozing man in the booth.

 

And Sidney Crosby doesn't feel so alone anymore. He won't ever have to again.

**Author's Note:**

> .....so, yeah. Giant duck.
> 
>  
> 
> (((Giant Eagle is a grocery store chain that is prevalent in Pittsburgh- I did my homework, he he he. I tried to get the PGH landscape as accurate as possible, which meant a lot of Google image searches, but it's not perfect, sorry. Also, I have no idea if the Penguins have something else going on when this fic takes place- aka right now, this evening, September 27.)))


End file.
